Five….
(My eyes will adjust.)
Four….
(It's just really dark.)
Three….
(What if this is a dream?)
Two….
(What if I'm blind?)
One….
“Awake!” A gentle female voice said. “Welcome back, Mr. Krott.”
“Where was I?”
“Mr. Krott…must you always be so dramatic?” The woman - allegedly a nurse, since she's wearing the outfit - chuckled and left the tray on the table and left the room. On the silver tray was a full syringe and a glass of something. Something yellowish. Something with ice.
It's a plain room. There's nothing on the walls, the floor is a piss-stained linoleum tile. Against the far wall sits a cheap laminate table, the one with the tray, and aside from the chair, it's the only other piece of furniture in the room. As for the chair, I couldn't tell you much about it as I'm sitting in it. It's not particularly comfortable, and I can feel the sweat stains cold and wet through my clothing. Propping my hands on either arm of the chair, I try to stand, but my legs haven't been fully woken from their deep sleep. My feet are numb, my hands hurt, and I am suffering a piercing headache which is only further compounded by the fact that I don't know where the fuck I am.
The table is within arms reach and my attention is once again drawn to the glass. A single whiff informs me that the substance is whiskey. A sip tells me it's Irish, perhaps. Why do I know that? I'm happy to be sipping the stuff, but I'm also pretty confused. Did I say confused? I'm pretty fucking scared, actually. I'm in a strange room, a strange nurse - or at least some crazed role-playing porn star - finds me amusing and I don't recognize a goddamn thing except this whiskey. I'm fairly certain I'm not an alcoholic, but right now I want to be. The sweaty glass is all that seems to comfort me at this moment in time. But, reluctantly, I place it back on its tray with a satisfactory "clink". “Don't worry,” I say to the glass, “We'll be spending more time together.”
My legs are pins and needles, but I still cannot stand. They just won't respond to my repeated requests or my authoritative command to obey my wish to move. I want to be mobile. Strangely, I want to get a better look at this damn chair.
“God, I wish I had a mirror!” I cry and place my head in my hands. Who was that nurse, and why did she leave me alone? Why couldn't she play along just long enough for me to find out what the hell is going on. Is my name really Krott? Where am I? Why can't she tell me anything? What a bitch!
Wait a minute…where's the door? I look up and see nothing. I don't recall seeing a door. At least I don't recall seeing it after the bitch - that goddamn nurse - left. Did she open and then close a door? I can't remember. As I try to find the answer in the bottom of my upturned glass, it became readily apparent in my peripheral vision that the room suddenly developed a new feature: a full length mirror to my left. With the glass in my mouth, my head jerks left, ripping the crystal out of my weak hand only to shatter against the linoleum. Only to find itself back on the tray on that ugly modern table across from me. I can see in the mirror that the glass is full. There is no sign of the glass shards that previously populated the floor. There is no sign of a doorway, nor any way out of here. The only escape is the silvered glass that materialized on the wall to my left.
The chair? I can't see the chair. I cannot see what is supporting my weight in the mirror. For that matter, as I look down, I can no longer see what is supporting my weight without the mirror. The arms are gone. The leather that was visible below my crotch is no longer. I cannot feel the sweat and the backs of my legs are cold. My feet are feeling much better, but I still cannot stand because I have nothing to stand on. I can't feel the chair, I can't push myself up and I can't see the floor. The mirror, the table and the tray with all its goodies remain, but I cannot see the floor. I'm floating in this goddamn purgatory, haunted by mirrors, bottomless glasses of whiskey and the bitch in a nurse's outfit.
